The Arms of a Fighter
by WhiteFerrets
Summary: It's been years since Cooper really got a chance to look at Blaine, and Cooper can't help but notice how much he's grown. One-sided Andercest.


**A/N: Oh, Cooper. Cooper, Cooper, Cooper.**

**Rating: R  
****Warning: Sexual references, internal incest-shaming  
****Word Count: 1500  
Characters: Blaine Anderson/Cooper Anderson. Yes, that means incest. Get over it.**

**Summary: It's been years since Cooper really got a chance to look at Blaine, and he's definitely not the fragile boy he used to be. Cooper can't help but notice how much he's grown, and it's making him feel things he _really_ should not be feeling. **

* * *

It's been two years since Cooper last set foot in the Anderson household. He'd seen his family at dinners and family gatherings, stayed updated via the internet, but this is the first time he's been back in twenty-eight months and sixteen days.

Cooper's been counting.

Blaine was just fourteen years old when Cooper moved out, four years his junior and as tiny as ever. His voice had only just started to break and there wasn't an ounce of muscle on his scrawny body, which made the Sadie Hawkins Attack just that much harder to get over.

Every time he saw Blaine limping around on those crutches, face still bruised and swollen, it had killed him. But then the school year ended and Cooper had to go on to college before Blaine had even recovered. So he moved out, into a share house a few towns over, and Blaine was still so tiny but suddenly so much older that it was a relief to get away from him with his dead eyes and blank expressions.

It's been five months since Cooper last saw his younger brother at their grandparents' anniversary dinner. He didn't get a chance to say much to him aside from "Hey Squirt, see my new commercial?" He was layered up, hidden behind various shirts and cardigans, and he'd never seen more hair gel on his head than that day. He looked older than before, but the timid way he held himself the entire evening made it hard for Cooper to see anything other than the broken fourteen-year-old boy he'd left at the Anderson household.

He doesn't know what he's expecting as he waits for Blaine to get back. "Blaine? Oh, he's gone for a run," his mother had said a while after he arrived, leaving Cooper in the living room to wait. An hour later, he still sits on the couch, flicking through TV channels idly.

The door opens and Blaine walks in, not noticing Cooper at first. He's wearing nothing but a white tank top and grey sweatpants that sit low on his hips, his skin glistening with sweat and his hair ungelled. Panting heavily, he kicks off his running shoes and reaches for a towel he left by the door, running it over his face.

He turns then, catching Cooper on the couch as he wipes his collarbone with the towel. He grins.

"Coop, hey! I didn't — know — you were — coming over," he says brightly between breaths, slinging the towel around the back of his neck and holding both ends in his fists.

"I'm just here for the weekend," Cooper explains.

"I would hug you — but —" He sweeps a hand down his body, gesturing to the sweat, and Cooper's eyes linger on the waistband of Blaine's sweatpants as he nods in understanding. "I need — water."

Cooper gets up and follows him into the kitchen, hopping up onto the counter beside the sink as Blaine gets a glass and fills it with water. As he guzzles it down, Cooper _notices_. He can't put a name on it, because he notices _everything_.

The muscles on his arms are prominent, so prominent that it makes Cooper's head spin because he's pretty sure those arms were sticks when he saw Blaine just five months ago. His soaked tank top hugs his pecs, not huge but still there, and Cooper can see the lines of defined abs through the white cotton. His grip on the glass is strong, his fingers calloused and firm. The muscles in his throat work relentlessly as he downs the water, his Adam's apple bobbing in time with each swallow, and Cooper feels something in the pit of his stomach that he definitely should not be feeling while looking at his_ baby brother_.

Blaine finishes the glass and immediately goes to fill it up again, giving Cooper a breathless grin. "I'm gonna head down to the basement. Wanna catch up?"

"Sure thing, Squirt," Cooper says happily, glad to have a reason to stop staring at his brother's body. He hops off the counter and slings an arm over Blaine's shoulder as they make their way down to the basement, ignoring his complaints over Cooper's pet names.

The basement hasn't changed much. The large HD TV is still on the wall, the couches and bean bags still litter the floor, and the numerous DVDs are still spread across the shelves around the TV. But the corner of the room, furthest from the stairs, makes Cooper do a double take. There's a punching bag hanging from the ceiling, an elliptical pushed against the wall, and a set of weights to the side of it. As Cooper sits down on the couch, he notices a yoga mat and pair of boxing gloves tucked into an alcove as well.

"Is all of that shit yours?"

"Yep," Blaine says with a smug grin, setting the glass of water down before picking up the boxing gloves. Cooper watches him throw some experimental punches at the punching bag, getting re-acquainted with the feel of it against his fists.

"So when did you start working out exactly?"

"As soon as I started boxing," Blaine replies breathlessly, driving his fists into the bag again. "Which was as soon as the doctor took me off of the crutches. He recommended yoga to help with the pain in my ribs, so I signed up to yoga and boxing classes at the same time. Started going to the gym after a while, but Dad hated having to renew the membership every month so I told him the stuff I used while I was there and he bought it for me. Started fencing when I moved to Dalton, started running some time between the transfer and meeting Kurt, I can't remember when."

"Kurt's the boyfriend?"

"Yeah. Kurt's the boyfriend. I started a Dalton Fight Club, y'know?" Blaine adds with a sly smirk in Cooper's direction.

Cooper's eyebrows rise in surprise. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. I mean, boxing's great and all, but I just- wanted- better- practice," Blaine explains, punctuating each word with a firm swing at the punching bag.

The image of Blaine bloodied and bruised with his fists in the air shouldn't be as hot it is. It should remind Cooper of finding him after the Sadie Hawkins dance, should make him feel sick to his stomach, but it doesn't.

Because Blaine isn't that fragile boy anymore. He's a man, with muscles and a knowledge in fighting. And the idea of him fighting someone, an equal fight that he actually stands a chance of winning … it brings that feeling back into the pit of Cooper's stomach, makes heat stir in his groin, and Cooper can't stop himself from resting his head on the back of the couch to watch Blaine attack the punching bag.

It's wrong, it's so fucking wrong that he can barely comprehend it, but Cooper feels himself getting hard as he watches. He can hear Blaine talking but doesn't take in any of his words, too focused on the sight before him. The veins in his arms are thick and vivid, his muscles straining and shoulders flexing with each calculated punch. He's all too aware of the fact that this is his _brother_, his _baby_ brother, but that somehow just makes his jeans even tighter.

All he can think about is having those arms pinning him to the bed as Blaine rides his cock, grunting like he is now every time his fist hits the bag, and oh _god_ Cooper wants to _die_.

He tries to stop the mental images, the awful and disgusting and _ohgodsofuckinghot_ mental images, but now that they've started he can't escape them. Blaine's hands tied above his head, muscles straining as he tugs relentlessly and groans against Cooper's thrusts. Blaine scrabbling for purchase on the shower wall, arms flexing as he grips onto the tiles and cries out as Cooper holds him up. _Blaine Blaine Blaine_ and those stupid _(glorious)_ fucking arms.

"You alright, Coop?"

"What?" Cooper says tensely, sitting up straight.

Blaine doesn't stop punching the bag, glancing at Cooper every couple of seconds, and Cooper can't help but wonder when his eyes got so fucking intense and his eyelashes got so fucking long because _oh god_ those are the best blowjob eyes he's ever seen and suddenly all he wants is Blaine in between his knees.

"You look kinda ill. You tired or something?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's it," Cooper mumbles, taking the out Blaine has unknowingly offered him. "It's been a long day. I think I'm gonna go lay down for a bit, actually."

"Sweet. The spare room's filled with Dad's shit, though, so you're probably gonna have to room with me. That okay?"

_Oh god_.

"Yeah, sure. That's great."

"Awesome. I'll wake you up when dinner's ready."

Cooper waves goodbye shakily and makes his way to the stairs, going up to the living room as slowly as he can manage. He races up to Blaine's room as soon as he knows he's out of sight, though, slamming the door shut and locking it. He tries not to think too much about what he's doing as he falls onto Blaine's bed, the bed that smells so much like _Blaine_, the bed that _Blaine_ has gotten off on before, the bed that _Blaine_ has had _sex_ on for all Cooper knows.

He's gross, he's disgusting, but he's pushing his jeans down before he can stop himself and closing his eyes as he wraps a hand around himself and remembers the way Blaine's arms looked in the basement.

Oh _god._

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_**FIN. **_  
**Feedback is appreciated. (:**


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